


The Speech

by nostalgia



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Weddings, i don't know when it is set, it just sort of exists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:46:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She folded her arms across her chest. “I want you to come to my wedding, wear a nice suit, be my best man -”</i>
</p><p>  <i>“Don't I get to be a bridesmaid?”</i></p><p>  <i>“- and give a speech.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Speech

He held the gilded card between forefinger and thumb, waved it cautiously at arm's length.

“It won't explode,” said Watson.

Sherlock frowned. “I don't do weddings.”

“I don't care,” she said, “I've invited you.”

“Your fiancé hates me,” he said by way of an excuse.

“He does not hate you!”

“He accused me of spying on him.”

“Sherlock, you _were_ spying on him.”

He corrected her; “I was investigating.”

“We investigate people we suspect of having done something wrong. What you did was spying.”

“I just didn't want you to suffer as I did. I wanted to make sure you weren't falling for your nemesis.”

“I don't have a nemesis!”

“That you know of. I'm sure by now you've earned the seething hatred of any number of what might be termed super-villains,” he said in his most reasonable tone of voice. “What if Moriarty -”

“No.”

“It's quite possible that she -”

“No, Sherlock.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I want you to come to my wedding, wear a nice suit, be my best man -”

“Don't I get to be a bridesmaid?”

“- and give a speech.”

“A speech?”

She nodded. “A speech. I know you can do it, you have enough experience of public speaking.”

“In support group meetings. I doubt your assembled loved ones would like to hear me talk about my relationship with heroin.”

“So you can gloss over how we met, but the fact that you're making a speech is not up for discussion.”

Sherlock made a face.

“Don't do that,” she said, “it makes you look that cynical cat on all those internet memes.”

“Grumpy Cat,” he corrected automatically. 

“Whatever you want to call it. Just don't do the face.” 

“How else am I supposed to express my feelings on this matter?”

“Look, it's not as if you have to talk for an hour. It's a few hundred words. Maybe you could say something about our work together -”

“Yes, Watson, for I am full of amusing anecdotes about murder, a subject that has proved to be so popular at weddings.”

“The internet has to be full of ideas for wedding speeches. Google it.” With that she turned and left the kitchen, leaving Sherlock with the invitation and a minor grudge.

 

“We're not marrying each other,” said Sherlock as they approached the counter.

The saleswoman stared at him.

“In the last two stores I was assumed to be the groom. As attractive as Watson undoubtedly is, I have no wish to marry her.”

The saleswoman – a badge on her chest identified her as Carol – nodded. “I understand. Gay best friend?”

“He's my best man,” said Watson. “I don't really know any women enough to have a maid of honour, so...” She shrugged. “I need a dress and he needs a suit.”

“Any particular styles you have in mind?” asked Carol, moving from behind the counter to assist with the hunt for suitable clothing.

“I was thinking something in ivory for the dress.”

“And I would like to look like a penguin badly disguised as a human.”

“He's joking.”

“I'm not.”

Watson glared at him. “If you keep acting like this -”

“You'll dis-invite me?” he supplied, hopefully.

“There is zero chance of that happening.”

He sulked at her. 

“Don't do the face.”

 

“It's done,” he announced.

Watson looked up from one of her wedding-related lists. “What is?”

“I've finished writing my speech.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “You have a lot of planning still to do, I shouldn't add to your worries. Therefore, I have applied myself to my task and I now have quite a good speech ready for your big day.”

“That's good,” she said cautiously.

“You seem wary.”

“How many times did you use the word 'homicide'?” she asked.

“None.”

“'Murder'?”

“Once, but I think it works in context. I can of course remove that reference if you'd prefer.”

“No, it's okay. Everyone knows what we do, after all.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

 

The classic advice for public speaking was to imagine your audience naked. Watson's friends and family were not particularly attractive, so he decided to ignore that advice.

“When I first met Joan Watson, I was a recovering drug addict.”

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“I'm giving a speech,” he whispered. “You asked me to do this.” He smiled at his shocked audience. “You see, I thought the love of my life had been murdered in a especially gruesome way, and-”

Watson had gone a pleasing shade of angry. “Don't worry,” he told her, “I'm getting to the punchline.” He moved onto the next card in his notes, more for effect than because he hadn't memorised his speech. “To skip to the moral, I learned that romantic love is but a prelude to pain, suffering, and possibly death.” He raised his glass. “A toast, then, to Watson and her new life of marital bliss.”


End file.
